They were doomed to
death,--not to the death of the malefactor, but as victims of private
interest. No friendly jailer had been near, to bring them even a cup of
cold water to assuage their consuming thirst. Not a morsel of food had
they tasted since their incarceration! The terrible doom to which they
were consigned was too apparent; there was nothing to foreshadow even
the slightest hope of redemption. A few days' intercourse with their
inhuman persecutor had demonstrated too plainly that he was equal to any
crime which his own safety demanded.
The female turned uneasily upon her rude and filthy bed. Her companion
bent over her, and, as a flood of tears poured from his sunken eyes, he
imprinted a kiss upon her pale cheek.
"Do you feel no better, Delia?" asked he, tenderly.
"Alas, no! The sands of life are fast ebbing out. O, for a single drop
of cold water!"
"God in heaven! must I see her die, with no power to save?" exclaimed
Dalhousie,--for it was he,--striking his hands violently upon his
forehead.
"Do not let me distress you, Francois! Let me die!--I am ready to die,"
said she, faintly.
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